


bring you home (i can't be alone)

by ExyCherry



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, MY CABBAGES, Pai Sho, There's A Tag For That, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, also there's pai sho, i feel like BAMF katara applies? but also it's just her knowing what she wants?, i wrote this for one specific scene to be perfectly honest, is that a tag?, no beta we die like men, nothing too detailed though, the sparring scene specifically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExyCherry/pseuds/ExyCherry
Summary: Set three years after the war, Zuko finds himself missing Katara. She comes for a visit.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 223





	bring you home (i can't be alone)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this after about a week of reading nothing but zutara. i regret nothing. it took like four days but i'm stupid and didn't start writing until after 1AM every night (morning?) so it's just a hot fucking mess. it's also the first fic i've written outside of aftg for almost two years now that i think about it. don't get used to katara's pov, it was just to drive the plot and then i forgot i had written it in the first place. this whole work is just a disaster.

It’s been three years since the war, and it hasn’t been pretty. Relations are still strained between the nations, all things considered, and Zuko’s not happy about it. He understands, of course, the damage his father and grandfather caused; the lives lost, the families torn apart, the villages destroyed for their war. Understanding, however, does not mean he has to like it. 

The last straw for his patience is, coincidentally enough, a man with a cabbage cart. He’s requested an audience, and Zuko cannot possibly refuse, because what kind of leader would that make him then? The cabbage seller is irate with Zuko, claiming Fire Nation soldiers went out of their way to destroy his cart time and time again, causing numerous delays and leading to many nights on an empty stomach. After all, without a cart, how can he possibly sell his cabbages without anything to hold them? And besides  _ that, _ how can he possibly eat all those cabbages to keep them from going to waste?

“What is it that you want, exactly?” Zuko asks, cutting the man off in the middle of his rant. He’ll feel bad about it later, when he’s had time to calm down and eat something, but for now? Well, right now he’s simply not having it.

The cabbage seller is uncomfortably silent now. Zuko thinks that perhaps the man wasn’t anticipating making it this far, and so he steels himself against lashing out again. That is, until the cabbage seller speaks again.

“I want your soldiers to stop terrorizing me and the rest of the villagers!” he exclaims, and something inside of Zuko snaps.

“What my men do without my supervision is beyond my control. In case you were not aware, I am working on international relations to fix the bonds my ancestors broke, and I do not have time for something as trivial as a cabbage cart. I apologize if you were expecting something more productive to come of this meeting, but I cannot help you at this time.”

Zuko stands with a huff and practically storms out of the room. He hears the distinct sound of footsteps behind him, likely a guard, and so he decides the best course of action is to lock himself in his chambers. He wants to go into the training yard to let off steam, but he knows he won’t be alone there. 

After sufficiently pacing a hole in the floor, Zuko sits at his desk and cradles his head in his hands. He wishes he wasn’t so isolated here, nothing but Fire Lord Zuko day in and day out. He misses his friends dearly. Sending letters isn’t enough anymore; he doesn’t want to be alone. He can’t take much more of this.

His relationship with Mai was all that kept him grounded once his friends left for the last time, but they weren’t a suitable match, and had broken up shortly thereafter. Now all Zuko has is a box full of letters, some a joint effort from his friends, some private between himself and Katara, and a single one from Aang. 

The group letters come every month or so; Katara’s come almost weekly. He supposes it makes sense, given that she doesn’t have to wait for the others’ input, but he can’t help but feel his heart skip a beat every time her letters arrive. 

Katara’s handwriting is so careful, so deliberate. Sometimes when Zuko is feeling overwhelmed, like now, he’ll take out one of her letters and trace her words with his index finger. It calms him, feeling the strokes of her pen against his skin, like it’s somehow his way of reaching her even from far away.

Though he sent a letter two days ago, Zuko decides to write another. His hands shake, as they often do when he’s been neglecting his health, and as such, it takes him much longer to write than it usually does.

_ Katara, _

_ I know I sent you a letter already, but I need to write you another. _

_ It’s so lonely here, without you and Sokka and Aang and Toph. The guards never leave me alone; I feel like a child. It’s stifling without a friend. It’s miserable. _

_ Would it be out of line for me to ask you to come? Just for a few days, since you’re busy working in the hospitals. I wouldn’t want to keep you from more important things. I suppose it’s selfish of me to want you here at all, but I have always been a selfish man. _

_ I think I’m in love with you. _

Zuko sets down his pen and lets his head fall forward, hitting his desk with a quiet thud. He can’t tell her that in a letter, not when he hasn’t told her aloud yet. When did he become so weak anyway? Falling in love with a girl through her letters sounded like the plot of one of those novels his mother had loved.

His mother.

Zuko misses his mother every day. It’s a quiet thing, lingering in his head and making a home in his heart, but wherever he thinks about her it’s suffocating. His mother would have liked Katara, with her unwavering kindness and tenacious spirit. Katara would have liked his mother, too.

With a sigh, Zuko sits up and scribbles out his confession. He can’t bring himself to sign it, so he simply rolls it up to give to one of his servants later. For now, it’s nearly dusk, and he hasn’t eaten all day. He stands and dusts imaginary dirt off his tunic, and Fire Lord Zuko emerges from his chambers with an indecipherable expression.

Katara receives the second letter before she’s had time to read the first. She’s had her hands full traveling from hospital to hospital across the nations, doing what she can to aid the healers and gain insight on the state of affairs wherever she goes. At the end of the week she’s always home, intercepted by Sokka and Suki, and there is always a letter waiting for her, without fail. 

If it weren’t for the letters, she may not return home as often as she does.

Even after the war, Katara can’t stop moving. She’s anxious staying in one place, and she can't help but feel as though there’s always more she needs to be doing. She supposes this is in part due to her and Aang separating, finding it in their best interests to go their own ways. Aang was always too protective of Katara, too stifling. She never felt like she could breathe.

Zuko understands this. He’s expressed, on many occasions, the urge to go out and  _ do _ something. Katara feels almost sorry for him. She can’t imagine the pressure he’s under to do the right thing constantly, and with the stained past of the Fire Nation, it can’t be easy for him either. Sometimes she wants to go visit him, but there’s never been an excuse.

Katara opens Zuko’s first letter after she bids Sokka and Suki goodnight. It’s nice, having this correspondence with Zuko. His letters always feel so formal. She wonders what it would be like to see him let loose.

The second letter is far shorter than the first, and there’s a scribbled out line at the bottom. He’s forgotten to sign it, too. She smiles. It’s a very Zuko thing to do. 

The contents of the letter cause her heart to stutter, just for a moment. He wants to see her. Not the whole group, but  _ her. _ She doesn’t know what she’s going to tell Sokka, but she pushes the thought aside and pens out a letter of her own. It’s only two words, which seems like a waste of paper, but she sends the messenger hawk without a second thought.

_ I’m coming. _

Zuko receives Katara’s letter sooner than expected. He’s worried for a moment that she never wants to speak with him again after the second letter, but the paper in his hands certainly states otherwise.

She hadn’t specified when, or for how long, but Zuko doesn’t care. He’s going to see the girl he’s been falling for, slowly, over the span of many years, and he couldn’t be happier. 

Uncle Iroh notices Zuko’s lighter mood when they sit for tea and a game of Pai Sho the next day. Zuko knows he should have expected this of his uncle, but it still catches him by surprise when Iroh speaks.

“Has something happened, my nephew? You are in much higher spirits today,” Iroh says. He sounds glad to see Zuko without a scowl for the first time in weeks.

Seeing no use in lying, Zuko replies, “Katara is coming to visit.”

“When will she arrive?” his uncle asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“She didn’t say.”

Zuko places his next Pai Sho tile and takes a sip of his tea. Immediately, his uncle breaks into a hearty grin. He places his tile, and Zuko’s lips pull into a frown.

“You are getting slow, my nephew. Lady Katara might laugh at you if you lose like this in front of her.” 

“Be quiet, old man,” Zuko grumbles, not unkindly. He’s been open with his uncle about his feelings for Katara lately; he likes having someone to confide in, even if it is his relentless uncle. 

“You plan to woo her?” 

“I’m not sure,” Zuko says haltingly. He’s suddenly very aware that he has no plans for Katara’s visit, and no clue how long she’ll be staying. 

“Nephew, I suggest you think about what you want. A tea is best brewed when you know what you are making.”

There it is. Zuko had hoped his uncle would be less cryptic than usual, but tea metaphors were not unexpected when it came to Iroh’s advice. It helps, if only a little bit, and Zuko is satisfied with his uncle’s daily bit of wisdom. 

“I will, uncle,” Zuko says, after a beat.

“Good. Now, would you like to lose at another game of Pai Sho, or return to your duties?”

Katara had left the Southern Water Tribe early in the morning, much to her half-asleep brother’s dismay. But he had hugged her tight and wished her luck, and she had told him she would be gone for awhile. Now, as her boat docks in the Fire Nation port, she’s beginning to doubt if she’s making the right choice. 

The other passengers on the ferry disembark without a care, families chattering away and lovers striding in tandem. Katara is one of very few who steps onto land alone. She’s not discouraged by this, because she’s going to see Zuko, but she faintly wonders what it would be like to have a lover to hold her hand throughout the day and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, just the two of them against the world. 

She’s not going to have that with Zuko; this she already knows. He’s the Fire Lord, and his duties take precedence over a lover. She has her fair share of responsibilities as well, but her schedule is far more fluid. Zuko’s days are likely packed from dawn to dusk, if she’s interpreting his letters correctly.

What, then, does she want with him? And more importantly, what is it that she feels for him?

Once upon a time, Katara would not have cared any less about Zuko. But as time passed, as he traveled with her and the others, she’d gotten to know a part of him that she didn’t think he showed many people. His heart was often laid bare in his letters, and she’d found herself opening up and doing the same.

Somewhere, somehow, she’d grown to care for him far more deeply than she could ever have anticipated. Not that she’s complaining; after all, she’s a few hours’ walk from the palace now. The ferry ride had been long, but the walk to the palace feels somehow longer. Perhaps it’s the heat, or perhaps it’s the driving force within her, but Katara’s pretty sure she’ll have to stop at an inn for the night. 

Just as she’s about to stop for the night, she looks up to see the palace winking in the setting sun. She’s practically sprinting now, and she finds herself at the gates within minutes. And to think she had wanted to stop not ten minutes away.

The guards at the gate stare at her expectantly, and Katara squares her shoulders, determined to look every part the Waterbending Master she had worked so hard to become. “My name is Katara, from the Southern Water Tribe. Fire Lord Zuko is expecting me,” she says authoritatively. To her dismay, the guards shake their heads.

“I don’t think you understood me,” she continues, tilting her chin up defiantly. “Fire Lord Zuko has invited me here.”

One of the guards steps forward as if to escort her elsewhere, until a familiar voice says, “Open the gates.”

Katara has grown since Zuko had last seen her. She’s grown into herself, the embodiment of her immense power and strong spirit. She is no longer the young girl he had once known; she’s become a woman now. Not only does she seem more confident in herself, but physically she looks like she could snap his bones without breaking a sweat.

Despite her fuller figure, she fits into his arms perfectly. Agni, how he’s missed her. He stops himself from breathing her in, and settles for running his fingers through her hair. She’s wearing it down for once, and Zuko decides he likes it.

“Hello, Katara,” he murmurs into her ear, and Katara pulls back to look up at him. He misses the warmth of her, but it’s more than enough just to see her here.

“Hello, Fire Lord Zuko,” she replies. Zuko shakes his head.

“Just Zuko,” he tells her. “Unless you’d like me to call you Master Katara?”

“I’ll admit, I do like the sound of that,” Katara teases, and for the first time in a very long time, a genuine smile cracks across Zuko’s face. 

“You must be tired,” Zuko opts for, changing the subject. “I’ll show you to your chambers.”

He leads her through the palace, making idle chit chat all the while. She tells him of her work in the hospitals, and he tells her about the cabbage seller he’d yelled at. As expected, she chastises him, albeit lightly, and reminds him of his duty to his people. She’s just as open with him as she was in her letters, and he has the sudden desire to kiss her. Thankfully, he’s saved when they stop in front of a door.

“There are your chambers,” he says, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Mine are just down that hall, if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Zuko.”

Before he can blink, Katara is leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. His face flushes an embarrassing shade of crimson, and she laughs at him as she closes the door. Suddenly he’s not sure if he can survive with her so close to him. She’s going to drive him mad.

As it turns out, Zuko sleeps better than he has since before his banishment. Having Katara so near calms his turbulent mind enough for him to make it through the night without a single nightmare. He thinks, if only for a moment, that having her in his bed might banish the nightmares permanently.

Katara accepts his invitation to breakfast, and when she comes into the dining room dressed in traditional Fire Nation clothes, Zuko feels his heart fall to his feet. She looks absolutely radiant. He wants to bask in the sight of her forever.

“Good morning, Katara,” Zuko says in greeting, having momentarily forgotten how to speak.

“Good morning, Zuko. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept pretty girl—good. Pretty good. I slept well, yes,” he stammers, poorly attempting to salvage his slip. “I trust your chambers were sufficient?”

“More than sufficient,” Katara replies, blissfully unaware. She sits to his right, and something about the simplicity of preparing to share a meal with her causes a warm feeling to flow through his veins.

“I'm glad,” Zuko says, pulling an almost-smile before tucking into his breakfast.

They eat in silence, which surprises Zuko (given that she’d come all this way at the drop of a hat just to see him), but he’s content to steal glances at Katara and hide his blush whenever she catches him. But if she catches him, that means she’s looking at him as much as he’s looking at her. The thought pleases him, and it must show on his face, because Katara breaks the silence.

“What are you smiling about?” she asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Nothing,” Zuko replies, hastily enough that Katara quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing?” she prods. Zuko nods.

“Just thinking,” he says.

“Then that’s not nothing. Thinking is a thing, you know.”

Zuko wants to kiss the smug grin off her face; he settles for scowling instead. “I could have you imprisoned,” he warns lowly, but it only makes her smile grow wider.

“I’d like to see you try,” she quips, and  _ oh, _ her voice has taken on a husky tone, and Zuko’s gone.

“Would you really?” he says, mirroring her sultry tone.

“Take me to the dungeons, then.”

She’s staring him down now, her eyes whispering a challenge he wants so desperately to accept. On a whim, he decides he will, in fact, indulge himself in this. Without warning, he stands and picks Katara up, throwing her over his shoulder.

“As you wish,” he says, then begins the walk towards the palace dungeon.

“I can walk there, you know,” she says flippantly, propping her elbow against his shoulder and resting her hand on her palm. 

“It’s all part of the experience,” Zuko replies. “Unless you’d rather I tie you up as well?”

Katara falls strangely silent for a moment, and Zuko’s suddenly worried he’s overstepping a boundary. That is, until she pipes up, “I don’t think you could contain me for long.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Oh Zuko,” she says, and Zuko forgets how to breathe, “it’s whatever you want it to be.”

Luckily for Zuko’s dignity, they reach the dungeons before he has to think of an adequate response. “I hope you don’t mind the chill,” he says. “I wouldn’t want a prisoner of such high standing to be  _ uncomfortable. _ ”

He sets Katara down gently, and she cocks her head to the side inquisitively. “What was that about tying me up?” she asks coyly. 

Zuko stalks towards her, slowly, slowly, until he has her crowded against the wall. He places his hands on either side of her head, looming over her with a sly grin. She’s holding his gaze with a smirk of her own, and without thinking, Zuko closes the distance to press his lips to hers.

It’s soft at first, Katara blooming beneath his touch, quiet sighs falling from her parted lips. It’s not until he trails feather-light kisses along her jaw that it quickly grows into something heated, and long overdue. He’s wanted to kiss her since the Agni Kai, and now, all these years later, he’s not sure how to show restraint, especially when she gasps his name like a prayer.

It’s mind boggling that he can elicit such beautiful sounds from her with only a few kisses; he can’t even begin to imagine what it would sound like to take her against this wall right here and now. He pushes the thought from his mind and refocuses on kissing her exposed collarbone, daring to nip at the smooth brown skin. She huffs out a half-laugh that is immediately swallowed by another gasp, and Zuko grins smugly.

“Not so tough now, are you, little Waterbender?” he teases. Katara glares at him, but he doesn’t notice the absence of her left hand from his shoulder until it’s too late. He groans as she palms against his groin, and then he’s pinning her wrists to the wall and bruising another kiss into her mouth.

“Touch me,” she gasps, and when has Zuko ever been able to deny her anything?

They don’t talk about what happened afterward. Zuko’s concerned he did something wrong, but the gentle smile Katara sends him before setting off into town assuages his worries substantially. After all, he reasons with himself, they hadn’t done much beyond kissing anyhow. He hadn’t wanted to take her against a cold stone wall for their first time. He  _ does  _ have standards, and he wants to properly woo her before moving too far beyond the activities of their earlier tryst. 

His uncle seems to know all when they sit for afternoon tea and Pai Sho. “So, my nephew,” Iroh says as he hands Zuko a cup of tea, “I trust you are enjoying Lady Katara’s stay?”

Zuko nearly drops his cup. His uncle laughs heartily and places a hand on his stomach.

“And where is she now?” he continues, as if he hadn’t just laughed in Zuko’s face.

“Visiting the hospital,” Zuko says. “She wanted to continue her work.”

“She is a fierce woman. She will make an excellent Fire Lady.”

Zuko chokes on his tea, and his uncle laughs again. Suddenly he’s regretting ever confiding in his uncle to begin with. He supposes it's his own fault for not expecting this; after all, his uncle has always been interested in his love life.

“Now is not the time to think about making her my wife,” Zuko grumbles, then moves his first Pai Sho tile. “Not to mention, she is technically the princess of the Southern Water Tribe. The people would not react well to an engagement.”

“Does she make you happy, nephew?”

“Yes, uncle. She does.”

“Then do not worry about what the people will think. The people will love her as you do.”

Zuko sighs and drags his palm down his face. “It’s too soon to think about this,” he says. “I have a game of Pai Sho to lose first.”

After losing quite badly at Pai Sho, Zuko returns to his duties with a renewed vigor. It’s strange, this feeling of purpose and satisfaction with his work. He hasn’t felt this way in years. He’s certain he has Katara to thank for this. After all, seeing her has lifted his spirits immensely, and refreshed his zest for life in the process. He makes it through the day without snapping at any of the staff, and when Katara returns just after dusk, whatever residual tension in his body fades away at the sight of her.

Uncle Iroh joins them for dinner, and the air is filled with boisterous laughter and vibrant conversation throughout the meal. Katara tells of her work in the hospitals, with Zuko’s uncle proving an apt listener and entertaining conversation partner. Zuko remains fairly silent, content to watch the two banter back and forth unless they address him directly.

After a bit of silence, Zuko feels a slight kick at his ankle beneath the table. He turns to his uncle, then to Katara, and she’s staring at him expectantly. “Did you say something?” he asks sheepishly.

“Your uncle asked if we would join him for tea and Pai Sho,” Katara says. “Are you alright?”

Zuko nods. “Yes, I’m fine. Pai Sho sounds wonderful, uncle.”

Pai Sho is much less wonderful once Zuko loses to both Katara and his uncle in rapid succession, but it’s worth it to hear Katara’s crow of victory. Still, he can’t help but scowl, his ego sorely bruised and his highly competitive nature receding back into his mind to avoid further disgrace.

“You shouldn’t frown so much,” Katara teases. “Your face might get stuck that way.”

Uncle Iroh sends a not-so-subtle wink in Zuko’s direction, and it fills Zuko with a premonitive dread. After all, if he knows his uncle, he knows to expect a suggestive sort of comment any moment now.

“If it does, you don’t have to look at it,” Zuko mutters. 

“Why would I do that? I like your face.”

As soon as the words leave her lips, both Zuko and Katara break into furious blushes. But where Katara is ducking her head to hide her face, Zuko merely turns ever so slightly to the side. He’s more flattered than embarrassed, though he can’t say the same for her. 

Iroh glances back and forth between the pair before yawning exaggeratedly and moving to his feet. “I am not as young as I used to be,” he says, a thinly veiled excuse to leave Zuko and Katara alone. “I will leave you to your game.”

Before either can protest, Iroh is already gone. Zuko coughs awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. “So,” he says after a moment. “Would you like to play another game?”

“I think your uncle has the right idea,” Katara replies. “It’s getting late.”

“I’ll walk you to your chambers?”

She nods, so Zuko stands and reaches for her hand, pulling her upright. He then extends his arm in silent invitation, one that Katara takes without hesitation, looping her arm through his and allowing him to tuck her into his side. They’re quiet as he escorts her to her chambers, and when they arrive, he’s reluctant to let her go.

“Goodnight, Zuko,” Katara says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Katara.”

Zuko stares at the closed door for far longer than is necessarily appropriate, but as he turns to head for his own chambers, he hears the door creak open. He looks back in time to see Katara approach him again.

“Is there something you need?” he asks.

Katara leans up to press a delicate kiss to his cheek, just below his scar. It’s the most mind-numbing kiss he’s ever received. Before he can say anything else, the door is already closing again, leaving Zuko alone with a rabbit-paced heart and a tingling sensation in his skin where her lips had just been moments ago. 

Zuko’s morning is filled with meetings to make up for the time he spent with Katara the day before. She’s back at the hospital again today, so he’s not as worried about keeping her company as he was previously. He does, however, request that a set of Fire Nation trousers and a matching blouse be sent to her chambers. He passes along a hand-written note with the clothes requesting that she join him for a sparring session tomorrow afternoon.

He’d wanted to deliver the note himself, but Katara’d mentioned she would not return until dark. There was much to do in the hospital, and she was desperately needed. Not to mention the meetings he’d moved to today in order to make time for her tomorrow. 

Zuko falls into bed after a brief meal with his uncle, passing on their evening game of Pai Sho and tea in favor of getting some much-needed rest. He’s reluctant to even change out of his tunic, content to sleep curled atop the blankets rather than bothering to strip down for the evening. It’s just as well, he supposes, because not five minutes after he lays down there’s a knock at his door. 

“Come in,” he groans, not bothering to sit up. It’s late; he has no interest in formalities now.

“Zuko?” Katara says inquisitively. Zuko pushes himself upright, leaning back on his elbows to face her.

“Hello, Katara,” he says. “Your time at the hospital was productive?”

“Yes, it was. That’s not why I came, though.”

Zuko cocks his head to the side, a silent invitation and question in one. Katara steps closer to him and closes the door behind her. He can feel his pulse spike, his body prematurely assuming her intentions and beginning to respond accordingly. He’s lucky that merely his cheeks warm at the thought.

“You must have been busy today,” Katara continues, moving to sit beside him on the edge of the mattress. “Meetings all day again?”

“You had me thoroughly distracted yesterday morning. I had to make it up somehow.”

To Zuko’s delight, Katara’s face flushes brightly. 

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” she says, suddenly much more timid than she had been before. “You wanted to spar tomorrow?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“You are the only one whose abilities present a challenge to my own,” he says simply. 

“How long has it been since you were bested in combat?”

“Too long.”

Zuko must be exhausted, because he’s only now noticing what Katara’s wearing—or, rather, what she is not. Her hair tumbles in loose waves down her back, free of its typical braid, and it’s bringing attention to the dip of her collarbone and the slender curve of her back. As if that’s not enough, she’s clad in only a night shirt. Seated, the hem rests near the middle of her thighs; when standing, it brushes her knees.

Zuko’s mouth goes dry and he swallows heavily, tearing his gaze away and focusing on the floor. He hears Katara sigh, followed by the shift of weight on the bed. Too late he realizes she’s walking away.

“Katara,” he says, and her hand stills on the doorknob.

“Zuko,” she replies.

“Come here.”

Katara steps towards him, and he places his hands on her hips, drawing her closer. She’s standing between his legs, looking down at him with an indecipherable grin. “Yes?” she asks innocently.

Zuko reaches out to grab her chin with his thumb and forefinger, drawing her down for a brief but heated kiss. He drags her lower lip between his teeth before releasing his grip on her chin, moving that hand to cup her cheek.

“Sleep well,” he says, his voice a whisper almost too soft for her to hear, even in a room as quiet as this. She turns her head to the side and leans closer.

“Repeat that for me?” she asks, though it’s more of a statement than a request.

Zuko leans in and brushes his lips on her earlobe. “You heard me,” he murmurs lowly. He feels her shudder and nips at the skin just behind her ear, then leans back and tucks her hair back and away from her face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Katara. Unless you’d rather sleep here?”

Katara merely exaggerates the sway of her hips as she walks away. Zuko swears under his breath, making sure to commit the sight to memory. He’s going to enjoy making her beg one day soon.

Sparring with Katara is refreshing. She doesn’t hold back, and she fights with a vigor Zuko’s never seen before. He’s missed the challenge of a worthy opponent. He’s missed getting knocked down like it’s nothing. He’s missed the grace with which she bends, the beauty she possesses even as she fights, the determined glint in her eyes. Unfortunately, he spends too much time ruminating on what he’s missed that Katara manages to successfully pin him to the ground.

She’s a vision from her place above him, even with her knee in his stomach and a blade of ice poised at his throat. He shifts his head, and the tip of the blade presses into his skin. He feels something warm and wet trickle down his neck—blood.

“Got you,” she whispers. Her warm breath bats against his face and he grins. Before she can react, Zuko hooks his leg around her waist and flips, bracing his arm against her neck with just barely enough pressure to keep her from lifting her head. His knees bracket her hips quite comfortable, he finds. 

“Do you really?” he teases. She glares at him and huffs, seemingly admitting defeat.

“I think I do.”

Before Zuko can blink, a wave crashes over him, leaving him coughing and spluttering as he rolls off a laughing Katara. She moves back on top of him, this time making sure to pin his hips down by bending her left leg and laying her calf across his waist. She settles down into the stretch and props her elbows up on his chest, resting her chin in her palms. There’s a satisfied smirk on her lips.

“Alright, you win,” Zuko concedes.

“I know,” she replies. “But I’m not getting up yet. I want you to get used to this.”

“If you’d prefer to be on top, you can just ask,” he quips cheekily.

“I meant get used to losing, but that can be arranged.”

“Can it?”

“If you ask nicely.”

Zuko reaches up to run his fingers through Katara’s hair. She’d worn it down again today, this time with a small knot on the top of her head in addition to the loose waves tumbling down her back. Her hair is soft as it glides between his fingers; to his delight, the topknot comes undone with a soft tug.

“Is this a nice enough way to ask?” he murmurs huskily. If the dilation of her pupils is any indicator, the answer is yes.

“It’ll do,” she says.

There are two options for how Zuko can continue from here. He can either take the opportunity to kiss her, or he can use this moment of distraction to win their sparring match. Fortunately for his competitive streak, he’s never been one to walk away from an easy victory.

He tilts his chin in a come-hither motion, and the moment Katara’s elbows are off his chest, he grabs her wrists and flips them over again. She’s sufficiently pinned beneath him now, and despite her efforts, she’s unable to use their position to her advantage.

“I win,” he says, then brushes an almost-kiss to her lips. Before she can move to reciprocate, he pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand to help her stand.

“That’s not fair,” Katara grumbles. Zuko pulls her knuckles to his mouth and kisses them lightly.

“That,” he says with a wink, “is called foreplay.”

Katara glares for the rest of the day, clearly unhappy with being bested in combat. To her credit, Zuko had been fighting just a bit dirty (admittedly, so had she). Dinner is full of a charged tension and Zuko’s certain his uncle has picked up on it.

“Lady Katara,” Iroh says pleasantly, “I hope you are enjoying your stay. Is my nephew treating you well?”

“He’s been amiable enough, yes, though for the leader of a nation I’d expected something more gentlemanly.”

She’s baiting him, and like a fool, Zuko takes it without hesitation.

“I’ve been nothing  _ but _ a gentleman,” he grumbles. Katara grins wickedly.

“Your combat tactics are rather underhanded for a gentleman, don’t you think? After all, it’s impolite to hold your opponent down well after defeat.”

“Nephew,” Iroh chastises. Zuko ducks his head in shame. “Lady Katara is a guest. I had expected better manners from you.”

“Yes, uncle. My apologies, Lady Katara.”

It takes far too much effort not to scowl at either of his dinner companions, especially given the innocent smile Katara is sending his way. He settles for gently kicking at her ankle under the table. 

He is a fool not to think she would retaliate. 

It starts with a light kick in response. Unfortunately for Zuko’s self-control and lackluster poker face, she begins to drag her foot up his leg. He feels as though he’s about to combust, until she draws her foot back and grants him reprieve. 

“Is something the matter, nephew?”

“Yeah, Zuko. You’re looking a little flushed.”

Just as Zuko goes to speak, he feels a hand squeeze his thigh. He lets out an embarrassing yelp that certainly has no place outside of the bedroom, and Katara doesn’t have the grace to look even a bit scandalized. Her coy smile is enough to make him snap.

“Goodnight, uncle,” Zuko says hurriedly, grabbing Katara’s wrist as he stands and practically dragging her out of the room.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, stifling a giggle. She’s very lucky that it’s a short distance to his chambers; and farther and he’d simply have to crowd her against a wall.

“You know what you did,” he growls.

As soon as the door to his chambers clicks shut behind them, Zuko picks Katara up by the waist and practically throws her onto his bed. He’s on her in an instant, hands splaying on her bare midriff as he surges in for a kiss.

“Tell me no,” he says, less than a breath from her face.

Her arms come up around his neck as she locks her fingers behind his head. “I could never,” she replies.

Suffice it to say, Katara does not sleep in her own bed that night, or the nights to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> right so obviously i didn't tie up anything mentioned in the letters but to be perfectly honest i don't want to right now. maybe i'll write a sequel. who knows. as always, you can find me on tumblr [@crows-scones-and-exy-thrones](https://crows-scones-and-exy-thrones.tumblr.com/)


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